


When It Shines Like Gold

by flares



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mythology, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, midas au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flares/pseuds/flares
Summary: Nothing felt different physically when Zayn touched it. No glow, no sound, no spark or whatever. But Zayn feels as if he’s been flung out of orbit, everything inside him spinning wildly on its axis. Like the rivers of gold that flowed from his fingertips were winding around his lungs and constricting.This has to be a dream,Zayn thinks, but he knows he’s lying to himself; he’s never felt more terrifyingly awake.





	When It Shines Like Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! This is literally the first ever idea I had for a fic, and it's weird to think that I've actually written it. I'm glad I wrote it now instead of years ago because, lol, it probably would have sucked.
> 
> The title comes from _Bling (Confession of a King)_ by the Killers, because I'm a predictable mess of a human and I love the Killers.
> 
> P.S. this is set in January 2018, and is canon-divergent.
> 
> Enjoy!

Zayn wakes up on the morning of his 24th birthday in his bathroom.

It was a wild night that Zayn only vaguely remembers, which he can probably attribute to the shots that were poured down his throat. His eyelids feel like sandpaper and his body feels weighed down in that way that it only ever feels after a night of drinking. There’s a steady, aching pain at the base of his skull, as well as right behind his eyes, and immediately after opening them he has to shut them again. Everything is way too fucking bright.

After a few moments, Zayn tries again, and when he gets the sleep out of his eyes, he sees that his bathroom is gold.

 _What the fuck?_ Zayn thinks. He scrubs his eyes again and finds that he’s folded awkwardly into his tub—his _gold bathtub,_ what the fuck? That’s not right, because Zayn has a porcelain tub like a normal person, but he’s definitely in his own bathroom. How drunk did he get, exactly? It might be a good idea to change the locks on his doors, if someone could come in and paint Zayn’s bathtub, _while he was in it,_ without him noticing.

Zayn hauls himself up from the tub and out of the bathroom. The rest of his house seems unscathed, his walls and furniture thankfully not gold as well. His headache is still pressing at the bottom of his skull, though, which takes precedence over seeing how extensive this prank is.

He stops dead in his tracks when he goes to open a cupboard door. Nothing feels different, but one second it’s dark wood as it always was, and the next second Zayn’s squinting, yellow spots sticking behind his eyelids. 

Zayn’s pretty sure no one could pull off a prank like this.

Stepping back from his now gold cupboard, he picks an apple up off of the counter—something harmless and small, just to be sure. His breath catches in his throat as he watches what looks like a splash of golden paint spread quickly from where his fingers touch the apple until the whole thing is completely gold in less than a second. Heavy, too, solid and _definitely_ _not an apple anymore_ when he squeezes it.

Nothing felt different physically when Zayn touched it. No glow, no sound, no spark or whatever. But Zayn feels as if he’s been flung out of orbit, everything inside him spinning wildly on its axis. Like the rivers of gold that flowed from his fingertips were winding around his lungs and constricting.

 _This has to be a dream,_ Zayn thinks, but he knows he’s lying to himself; he’s never felt more terrifyingly awake. If this was a nightmare, he would have surely woken up in a cold sweat by now. 

“Zayno!”

Okay, now he’d _definitely_ be awake. 

“I’m coming in! Know you’re probably still sleeping, you party animal, but it’s noon now and I’m forcing you to wake up and open the super cool gift I bought you.”

Zayn is rooted to the spot, breath caught in his throat as he listens to the sound of keys jingling, and then the door opening. He can’t stop staring at the apple in his hand. Can it be called an apple anymore?

“Heyo, birthday boy!”

Turning, then, he looks up to where Niall is standing in his entranceway, grin wide but dimming with every second that passes. He’s holding a gift bag, presumably with Zayn’s birthday present inside it.

“Um, what happened to your fridge, mate?”

Zayn swallows hard. His heart feels like it’s at risk of beating right through his ribcage. “Something’s wrong. I— I don’t know—” He cuts himself off; how the _hell_ is Zayn supposed to explain this?

Niall puts the bag down and finishes kicking off his shoes before he moves towards Zayn. Zayn steps back in turn, and confusion further etches itself into Niall’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” 

Pure panic continues to rise in Zayn’s chest, and he has to keep stepping backwards, putting more space in between himself and Niall. “It’s fine. You should probably go.”

“Zayn, just tell me so I can help,” Niall says, exasperated. Though familiar—Niall’s slight frustration when Zayn retreats into himself and tries to solve everything on his own—it does nothing to stop the way Zayn’s shaking his head. 

“You can’t fix it. I don’t even know what happened…” Zayn breathes out shakily. “I just woke up, and—” Zayn cuts himself off, mouth snapping open and shut uselessly before he just grabs a spatula from the counter and waves it vaguely in front of himself.

At least Niall stops moving towards him. He looks confused, eyes flitting from the spatula to the apple, then to the cupboard door, all shining back at them. Zayn is holding his breath.

“That… Zayn, that wasn’t gold before.” Zayn nods, watches as Niall squints in thought. “Are you _Midas?”_ Niall asks.

“I— don’t know? Fuck’s sake,” Zayn sighs. He scrubs at his own face, then snatches them away a moment later as if he’d burned himself. How could he be sure what turns gold and what doesn’t?

“Nothing happened, don’t worry. Your face is still normal,” Niall says, Zayn’s terror probably plastered clear on his face. “So, like, it was just when you woke up today? Everything you touch _literally_ turns into gold?”

“Yeah? I mean, nothing feels any different than it did yesterday, I don’t think,” Zayn says, tucking his hands under his arms. He’s not wearing a shirt; would this change his clothes into gold, too? Probably, right? Figuring out the logistics of this is going to be a _nightmare,_ Zayn thinks. “The only difference is that I turned 24.”

Niall nods seriously but starts humming _24k Magic_ quietly to himself, and Zayn rolls his eyes. It’s the first time today he’s even come close to cracking a smile. Zayn resists the urge to shove at Niall’s shoulder. Or to throw something against a wall. To do something, _anything,_ to get out the nervous energy building inside him.

“Well,” Niall says, clapping his hands together. “We’ll just have to figure out how to get you back to normal, then.”

And of course—because he’s Niall, but also because Zayn can turn things gold and nothing makes sense anymore—Zayn can’t say no.

****

It’s a bit ridiculous out of context. Zayn thinks he definitely would have been cracking up at the picture that he and Niall were making right now, if not for every other aspect of the situation. He watches, only feeling a minuscule spark of humour when Niall, wearing rubber gloves, picks up a strawberry with a pair of tongs. Zayn stays perfectly still, his hands hovering in the air a safe distance above his knees.

“Okay, let’s see,” Niall says, putting on a face that is so over-the-top serious that it’s obviously not serious at all. It’s to make Zayn laugh, he knows, so he chuckles for Niall’s benefit; he can see the underlying nerves in the intensity of Niall’s gaze and in the slight shake of his hands.

Niall extends his arms forward so that the strawberry pokes Zayn on his bare shoulder. Zayn tries not to feel deflated at how far away Niall is standing as a precaution, but he finds that it’s impossible. 

The strawberry stays squishy and red, and Niall does a little fist pump. 

“Sick, okay,” Niall says, looking more relieved, more steady. “I’m gonna, like, move it around a bit, if that’s alright.”

Zayn shrugs, bumping the strawberry lightly, and Niall twitches but thankfully doesn’t flinch away. “Go ‘head.”

For all his joking and fruit-based “tests” Niall takes everything very seriously, which simultaneously calms Zayn and worries him more. Niall has a notepad out with a chart drawn and a list below it made up of a handful of bullet points. Zayn thinks it’s a bit excessive, a chart, but Niall had just mumbled something and drew one up anyways. He figured they should get all the “serious stuff” out of the way before Zayn renders any more of his kitchen appliances unusable. It’s overwhelming and nerve-wracking, but Zayn clenches his jaw and hopes it’ll be over with soon.

Next, Niall pokes at Zayn’s collarbone, chest, neck. The strawberry pokes his cheek, and Niall snorts a bit when it just leaves a trail of juice on Zayn’s face. He notes everything down, carefully and not in Niall’s usual hasty scrawl.

_Good: shoulders, chest, face, legs & feet _

When Niall taps the strawberry at his elbow—fine—and then moves it down until it hits his wrist, and then it’s _not_ fine. He exhales and puts the berry down on the kitchen island. 

_No-go: hands. nothing lower than wrists_

“Right,” Niall says. “So. It’s just in your hands where the magic seems to happen.” Zayn huffs and rolls his eyes, but Niall keeps going. “I’m pretty positive that’s it. It only seems to not work on yourself.

Niall turns, pokes the strawberry and watches as it rolls and knocks into a spoon. It makes a quiet _ting_ noise. “And it’s actually metal. Not just a gold colour.”

Zayn sighs and buries his face in his palms. “What the fuck am I going to _do,_ Niall? Like, seriously, what the fuck?”

Niall frowns, pats Zayn gently on the shoulder. He still has his gloves on. “If you want, like, I’ll stay with you. We’ll try to figure this out.”

Somehow, Zayn musters up a weak smile and nods.

****

Niall opens up the gift he got for Zayn, then grumbles the entire time as Zayn instructs him on where and how to hang up the framed and signed _Iron Man_ comic book.

****

“Yeah, mum, I’ll be okay,” Zayn says, trying not to sound as defeated as he feels. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m always going to worry,” his mum says. “You’re _really_ sure? I can always come down if you need someone to take care of you.”

That makes Zayn’s chest tighten. All he wants to do, really, is hug his mum as tightly as he can until everything is normal again. He definitely can’t do that, and he doesn’t want to put his mum through dealing with whatever this is.

Niall, who was doing a great job of pretending to not pay attention to Zayn’s conversation as he bustled around the kitchen, looks up at him when Zayn pauses. Then, Niall seems to get it—like he always has—and steps closer to where Zayn’s phone is laying on the counter on speakerphone.

“Don’t worry, Trisha. I’m taking care of him. And I’ll figure out how to get him back right as rain, soon,” he says, squeezing Zayn’s shoulder. His shoulder doesn’t turn things to gold, but Niall decided they should both wear gloves just in case. Niall’s got on bright yellow ones. Zayn’s wearing his spare gardening gloves that come halfway up his forearms, and they’re golden and solid and _heavy_ in his lap.

Better than the alternative, though.

“Okay. I trust you, Niall,” Trisha says. It sounds like a warning, but Zayn can tell she’s being honest. “Keep him well-fed, too. He’s getting tiny—”

 _“Mum,”_ Zayn groans, blushing a bit as Niall laughs loudly. Zayn opens his mouth, to say, _I can take care of myself,_ but then he realizes that he _can’t,_ really. Not right now. Zayn isn’t quite sure how he’s going to eat, as he can’t do so while he’s turning everything he touches into solid gold _or_ with the inflexible blocks on his hands, much less cook anything.

“I will. He’ll be nice and full when you next see him.”

Zayn thunks Niall’s arm with a glove-block and Niall grins at him, winks.

“Good,” Trisha says. She sounds a bit calmer now than when Zayn first told her the situation, at least. “I love you, Zayn.”

“Love you too, mum,” Zayn says. “I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“You better. Bye, love.”

Zayn nods, and Niall hangs up the phone. As soon as Zayn’s sure it’s off, he leans forward and hits his forehead none-too-gently on the counter. He had only mentioned vaguely that he was feeling poorly, didn’t want to worry her too much. Zayn had just mumbled something about being sick and his mum was already fretting; there’s no way she’d handle him being able to _turn things into gold_ well. 

At least it’s sort of out of the way now, Zayn thinks.

“So, should I spoon-feed you, or can you just eat with your face like you’re in a pie-eating contest? Or do you want to turn your silverware into _gold_ ware?”

“Those all sound awful,” Zayn sighs, turning his head to look at Niall, who waggles his eyebrows. “You should just go. Like, I appreciate you trying to help, but I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Shaking his head, and looking genuinely, affronted at Zayn’s suggestion, Niall says, “I’m fine, Zayn. You, on the other hand, aren’t. And you’re going to have trouble ‘figuring it out on your own’ when you can’t even open a book or type on your phone, much less Google something and find a solution.”

Zayn can’t help but frown. “But I don’t want to—”

“There’s no option B, Zayn,” Niall says. “Say I leave. Then what? This might not just fix itself.” Niall exhales loudly, crosses his arms and leans against the fridge. “Look, I know… you want to fix this on your own. I get it, really. But I want to help, Zayn.”

They stay quiet for a minute, Niall looking at him earnestly. Zayn’s heart is pounding in his throat.

“You forget that I know you,” Niall says, quiet now. “I might not _always_ know when you need help, because you’re shit at asking for it, honestly, but I know you need it now. You did the same for me when I had surgery on my knee and was half out of my head. I didn’t want to bother you with all my issues, but you knew that I needed help.”

Zayn looks at Niall, his serious expression and his crossed arms, looking stubborn and defiant. In all honesty, Zayn’s not sure how he’d go about functioning on his own, much less how he’d start trying to solve anything. 

“Okay,” Zayn says, after a long silence. “But we’re going to both be really careful. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

Niall sighs, and tension visibly drains from his shoulders. “Promise I will be, Zayn. We’ll figure out how to reverse this. Or fix it or something.”

His eyes drift away, then, lost in thought. Zayn mirrors him, tucks his hands under his arms. God, he could use a fucking drink.

****

So that’s what they do; Niall stands up on one of Zayn’s barstools to get to the good booze in the cabinet on top of the fridge, and they drink the lot of it. Niall does a goofy-looking dance in the middle of the kitchen when he manages to find straws, after he’s already spilled probably half a glass of whiskey trying to tilt the glass up to Zayn’s mouth without having it dribble down his chin.

After forty-five minutes, they’re both a bit gone, reclined half-limp on the two couches in Zayn’s living room with a rerun of _Jersey Shore_ on. Zayn is looking at the gloves on his hands, which are too heavy at the moment for him to bother lifting up closer to his face. He snorts, because as shitty as this is, it’s funny, in a way. Fuckin’ ridiculous. 

Niall lets out a quiet chuckle, hardly visible in Zayn’s periphery, and says, “Should write a song about this. Shame the name _Golden_ is already taken.”

Zayn hums, something settling funny in his stomach. “Wait, you listened to that one?”

There’s no response, and Zayn turns his head, feeling like he’s operating in slow motion. Niall is laying back with his eyes shut, but a wrinkle forms in between his eyebrows after a moment. 

“Yeah, mate. Listened to the whole album.”

Zayn doesn’t have a response to that, the alcohol making his train of thought wobbly and unclear. Onscreen, someone drunkenly topples to the ground, and Niall laughs loudly.

“We can, like, talk about that shit later,” Niall says, slurring a bit. Zayn closes his eyes but has to open them again when it just makes the room spin more. “Just drink tonight, and figure the rest out later, yeah?”

“Sounds good, mate,” Zayn says, relaxing a bit further into the cushions. 

Soon after, Niall starts snoring lightly, mouth hanging open and one arm lolling onto the floor. Zayn looks at him, drink still making his vision soft around the edges, and wonders when they both grew up, because that’s proper _stubble_ on Niall’s cheeks. Niall’s hair is dark now, and Zayn’s only seen it in its natural state a few times in person, which is a drastic change from when they lived their lives tangled together. A drastic change from when Zayn left and was greeted with radio silence and answering machines, texts delivered but not replied to.

Zayn looks at Niall and feels, for the first time in a while, no underlying feelings of awkwardness or loss or _shouldn’t we talk about this? I’m not sure that I ever really want to talk about this_ . He looks at Niall and sees _Niall,_ and thinks that of all the people that could have shown up at his door, Zayn’s glad it’s him that’s here now.

****

“I’m _sorry,_ okay?” Zayn sighs and sits down heavily onto the couch. Stitch barks at him, sniffs at the gold blocks on Zayn’s hands, and barks again. “I wish I could pet you, too, but I can’t, really.”

Stitch starts whining and Zayn’s throat closes up just looking at him. He only stopped jumping around and licking Zayn’s feet a moment ago. Zayn hadn’t really considered that a part of this _thing_ was that he couldn’t properly pet his dog anymore. 

Niall stops clattering around in the kitchen and wanders back into the living room just after Stitch has started licking at Zayn’s chin.

“Alright, mate?” Niall picks Stitch up and scratches at his ears. Zayn isn’t sure whether Niall was asking him or the dog, but he shrugs anyway. 

“Feel like shit. Can’t even give my dog a treat,” Zayn tips his head back against the top of the couch. “Like, I can’t _do_ anything.”

It’s the look Niall gives him—open and encouraging without expectation—that has Zayn relaxing a bit, enough to elaborate.

“I know we, like, tested everything and that it’s contained to my hands, but… I feel like I shouldn’t even move, because _what if,_ you know?” Niall nods, staying quiet. “It’s like I’m fucking stuck.”

He gives Zayn a sad smile before setting Stitch down on the floor. Stitch goes and starts rolling around on the shaggy rug Zayn has in his living room, and Zayn chooses to look at him instead of at Niall.

“Did you find anything out?”

“Not yet,” Niall says quietly, apologetic. “Haven’t gotten too into it, yet, but I’m pretty sure this hasn’t happened to other people. Not that I can find in, like, the modern era, or whatever.”

Zayn shuts his eyes again. “I don’t even know what I _did_ that caused this, y’know? Like was it something I drank or did, or was this going to happen no matter what I did?”

“Uh, dunno,” Niall shrugs, “but it’s probably a good thing it didn’t happen, like, on stage or something.”

Zayn’s eyes snap open and he sits up, jostling Niall—who was sitting closer to Zayn than he thought he was. “Speaking of, aren’t you going on tour in March?”

“Yeah, what about it?” 

“But it’s the middle of January now. Don’t you have rehearsals or something, then? I don’t want to keep you from—”

 _“Zayn.”_ Niall rolls his eyes. “Stop. You’re not keeping me from anything. I was just going to do some golfing anyways, and I happen to think this is a bit more important.”

Zayn must still be frowning because Niall pokes at his cheek and sends him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Zayn. Please don’t worry about it.”

Giving up, Zayn slouches back into the couch, crossing his arms again. “Fine. But the minute you have other things to do, tell me.”

“Deal.”

They sit quietly for a few seconds. Niall is looking at him, Zayn can tell, and Zayn nudges Niall’s shoulder with his own.

“So, I’m more important to you than golf. Should I be honoured?”

Niall laughs loudly, shoving back at Zayn a bit harder. “Yes, you should be. You knew that, asshole. And if you wanted to talk about that, then we could _also_ talk about how you know that my tour starts in March. Take your pick.”

Cheeks burning, Zayn laughs, too. _You were more important to me than most things, before._ “Yeah, okay, we’re not talking about this.”

“Later, we will,” Niall shrugs, thankfully not pointing out how red Zayn can tell his face has gone. “After we figure this out.”

Niall knocks his fingers against Zayn’s gloves and grins widely, and leaves it at that.

****

The next casualty is Zayn’s pillow, and it’s unfortunate that Zayn discovers that when he rolls over and hits his head right on it. One of his gloves must have fallen off in the night.

“Okay, seriously this needs to be fixed,” Zayn huffs when he walks into the living room, not even giving Niall a greeting. He hardly slept out of fear that he’d turn everything in close proximity solid gold, so he’s only had three hours of sleep by the most generous of estimates. The pillow is hugged to his chest, and Zayn lets it go to land on the ground with a loud thud. Maybe he throws it. If his mum were here, she’d probably say he was pitching a bit of a fit. But, _honestly._

Niall looks up, seemingly not bothered. “Hm? Oh, what happened to your forehead?”

“Ha, ha.” Zayn kicks at the pillow, which just hurts his foot more than it seems to hurt the pillow. He fights to hide his grimace when he sits heavily down on the couch and tucks his knees up to his chest, but Niall’s smirk tells Zayn that he knows it hurt.

“You trying to hurt every part of your body? That pillow is getting the best of you, mate, sorry to say.”

It’s saying something that Niall still apparently feels comfortable enough with Zayn that his teasing doesn’t stop after Zayn gives him what he’s sure is his most intimidating glare. Niall just grins wider and pokes at Zayn’s cheek before he grabs Zayn’s ankles and tugs so that Zayn is facing him, toes wiggling under Niall’s thigh. Zayn relaxes back into the side of the couch and is tired enough that he only grumbles a bit when Niall pulls down the blanket draped over the back of it and tucks it in lightly around his legs.

“Don’t hit the pillow again, yeah? I already bet my life savings on you winning, so.” Niall shrugs, like it’s nothing, then goes back to clicking around on his laptop.

“Well, I won’t put you out like that, then.”

Besides the quiet clicking of Niall typing, it’s quiet for a moment. His eyes are flitting quickly back and forth, brows furrowed, and Zayn cranes his neck to try to get a glimpse of the screen. “What’re you looking at?”

“Looking into getting a new blender. Mine just doesn’t break the ice right, y’know.” Zayn kicks at him, and Niall breaks into a grin, tilting the laptop towards him so Zayn can look. “Kidding. Reading Wikipedia, honestly.”

“And?”

“According to this, um, Midas took care of Dionysus' foster father when he was drunk… Or maybe passed out in a garden? Apparently, that’s, like, a discrepancy between stories.” Niall squints at the screen. “Then Dionysus was like, ‘Thanks so much! How can I repay you?’ and Midas was like, ‘I’d love for everything I touch to turn to gold, please.’”

Knocking his elbow into Zayn’s knee, Niall asks, “Take care of any drunk dads?”

“I’m sure some people here that night were dads, sure, but I don’t think I did a particularly great job at it. Not enough to impress a Greek god,” Zayn says. “How does he fix it, though?”

Niall scrolls down. “Well, Midas likes it at first, but then his food and water turn to gold, and he accidentally turns his daughter into gold, which of course isn’t the best, so he doesn’t really like turning everything gold anymore.”

“Yeah, same.”

Niall smiles reassuringly, squeezing Zayn’s ankle. It might be that Zayn isn’t used to being around him anymore, but Niall is touchier than he remembers, and Zayn’s skin feels warm wherever they touch. Maybe it’s just because Zayn is just more aware of everything he touches now that he’s a walking hazard.

“Okay, so!” Niall points his finger at the screen, and Zayn tries not to laugh at how dramatic his gesturing is. “Midas prays for Dionysus to take the power back, so Dionysus tells him to wash in the river Pactolus, and it’ll take away the power. Then also, whatever he turned into gold will go back to normal, too, if he washes it in the river. So, like, don’t touch your phone, because I’m not sure about the electronics policy there.”

It’s still a Wikipedia article that Niall is reading; Zayn shouldn’t get too excited. It’s _Greek mythology,_ but Zayn sits up to look anyways. “What river?”

“Pactolus,” Niall says, already typing it into the maps search. “Like the gay guy, I think.”

Zayn snorts and lays back onto the couch. “No, not the gay guy. You’re thinking of Patroclus. He had a thing with Achilles.”

Niall nods, faux-seriously, “Yes, right. Cousin.”

“Sorta. Distant cousin, I think.”

The clicking of the keyboard mixed with Niall humming a melody lulls Zayn to shut his eyes. He could really use a fucking nap, because _God,_ he hardly got any sleep and Zayn’s running on almost empty. Niall wouldn’t hold it against him either way, he doesn’t think. It’s not like Zayn is super capable of helping with problem-solving, what with the gold glove-blocks on his hands. 

Zayn falls asleep with Niall’s thumb tapping a rhythm against his ankle.

****

_“Come on, guys! Pack it up; the car’s here already.”_

_Liam gave a thumbs-up in the direction of the door, even though whoever yelled can’t see them, and managed to dodge Louis’ jabs at him long enough to sling his bag over his shoulder. In one second, Liam had a water bottle in his hand, and in the next, it was emptied over Louis’ head._

_“Fucker!” Louis laughed. “Thought that was only stage shit! I’ve already changed back into my own stuff, too. Oh, you better sleep with both eyes open.”_

_Laughing, though it sounds almost like a cackle, Liam sprinted out the door, leaving Louis in the dust to collect his own bag before he followed._

_Distracted by whatever he was looking at on his phone, Harry slowly followed them out, knocking his shoulder against the doorframe as he left with a quiet, “Ow.”_

_When Zayn looked over at Niall, he was in the middle of a very intense eye-roll, and Zayn scraped up enough energy to chuckle with him._

_“Better go, before someone has our heads,” Niall said, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Show was sick, wasn’t it?”_

_“Um. Yeah.”_

_Nodding slowly, Niall grabbed both of their bags and brought them over to where Zayn was still sitting on the couch. Zayn watched the way the muscles in Niall’s arms tensed when he set their duffles down, let his eyes trail down to his hands for just a second._

_The thing is that Zayn was pretty sure that Niall knew—or, knew to an extent—how Zayn was feeling. Both about the band and touring in general, and how Zayn felt about Niall. Of course, Zayn hadn’t said anything and Niall didn’t bring it up either, thank God, but it was in the way Niall looked at him. When he caught Zayn staring at him, and when he caught Zayn staring at absolutely nothing. Niall would just smile at him, but they knew each other well enough that Zayn knew the differences in the smiles he gave._

_One smile was a question, and the other was an apology. An ‘I don’t know how to make this better; why won’t you tell me?’ and an ‘I know how you feel, but I don’t think I feel the same way.’_

_“So,” Niall said as Zayn stood up and took his bag from Niall’s hand. “Hong Kong tomorrow, huh?”_

_Zayn hummed, let his gaze linger on its way up to meet Niall’s eyes. “Crazy. I don’t—” Zayn trailed off, feeling like something was caught in his throat. “It’s… a lot. Too much, maybe.”_

_He watched as Niall’s expression flickered through emotions, as if on a wheel. None really fully registered on his face, and Zayn waited until Niall landed on a sort of sad but accepting look._

_“Okay,” Niall said. His hand clapped Zayn’s shoulder, and he smiled his apologetic smile before leading them out of the dressing room with an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. It felt the same, but different, somehow._

_Zayn exhaled._

****

When Zayn wakes up again, the television volume is on low and Niall is laying with his legs curled carefully over Zayn’s own legs, half-asleep and looking at his phone. Niall looks up at him when he stirs, and Zayn faintly makes out the minute twitch of his lips.

“Hey. Sleep well?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Zayn stretches. “What time is it? Find anything else?”

Niall’s hair is all fluffy at the front, and he runs a hand through it now, seeming frustrated. “It’s almost 10. And, like, I swear this river doesn’t exist. Or, doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Hm?” Zayn frowns. “It dried up, or?”

“For one, it’s in Turkey, apparently,” Niall huffs, frustration evident in his voice now as well. “And two, I looked all over maps, and I can’t see it. So, like, it _could_ be there, but we’d be going in blind if we went actually looking for it.”

Not the best thing to hear first thing after waking up, Zayn thinks. Niall’s eyebrows are still drawn, eyes looking bleary, and the way he’s moving his hands tells Zayn that he’s annoyed that he can’t find it. It’s satisfying, seeing that Zayn still knows him. They’ve changed, but not that much.

He wonders what Niall still knows about him.

“Call it a night,” Zayn says. “You can start fresh tomorrow. You’re practically vibrating out of your skin, mate.”

“Right, right. You’re right.” Niall drops his phone in his lap and rubs tiredly at his eyes. 

For how much more grown-up Zayn had noticed he looked when he first showed up at his home, Niall looks exactly the same now as he did when they were nineteen, really. The exhaustion and stress always caught up with them on late nights, no matter how good the day or week was. It always seemed to catch up with Zayn first, though.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Niall uncovers his face and looks at him confusedly. “What do you mean?”

Zayn is really not sure why he’s bringing this up now. It’s hardly the most pressing issue at hand, but he might as well talk about it now that Niall’s on his couch.

“When I invited you over for my birthday,” Zayn says. “Like, I invited you to the party, and I _really_ wasn’t sure if you’d come to that. Which, you didn’t. But when I said you could come over on Saturday, it was more-so me being hopeful that you would.”

Frowning, Niall sits up, back straight against the arm of the couch. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

Zayn shrugs, opting to sit up straighter as well; he feels a bit ridiculous having this conversation with his blanket all scrunched up around his shoulders. 

“It’s all, like, _weird_ now. I mean, not super weird, but it’s weird knowing someone so well for so long, and then feeling like you don’t really know them anymore. Not this new version of them.”

Niall nods, looking down at his hands. Picking at his nails, probably, if that hasn’t changed. “I’m not going to lie and say we’re both the same, because, _duh,_ we’ve obviously changed. But I want to know you, still. The version of you that I know is someone I like to spend time with, and I’m pretty confident that currently, you’re still someone I like. A lot.”

Zayn shuffles, crisscrosses his legs and sets down his block-hands in his lap. “Right. Okay.”

Laughing lightly, Niall raises an eyebrow. “‘Okay’ is all you got? ‘Okay,’ he says after I tell him that I like him. What a wordsmith.”

Zayn kicks his foot out again, just to nudge at him. “Don’t be a shit. You know I liked you. Or, I’m pretty sure you knew.”

Niall shrugs, grin cocky. It’s a good look on him, but Zayn narrows his eyes at him anyways. 

“Yeah, I did,” Niall says, smiling wide and smug, now. “I didn’t realize at first but, I mean, I liked you, too. It was just a lot to handle at the time. I never knew what to do with that kind of stuff.” He waves his hand around vaguely. “Didn’t want to fuck it up until I got it all figured out.”

“We knew each other really well,” Zayn says quietly. “It was hard to fully keep anything a secret, from you, I think.”

“Yeah, same. Think we _still_ know each other pretty well.” Their knees knock together as Niall moves closer. “Which is why I’m pretty sure you still like me, and why I’m pretty sure you already knew that I still liked you, too.”

They sit in silence, just taking everything in. Niall still looks tired and a little ruffled, but he’s smiling sunnily, soft around the edges. He’s filled out more, especially in his arms and shoulders, and Zayn notes the slight change in his silhouette. Will have to remember that whenever he gets back to drawing Niall again. Already his fingers are itching for a pen.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Zayn snorts and can’t help but roll his eyes. “Not sure we’d have had this conversation if I was.” Niall raises an eyebrow slightly. “No. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Me either,” Niall says. “Would like to be seeing you, though.”

He’s inching closer, tapping his fingers on the golden blocks in Zayn’s lap and tracing up his arms. Not boxing him in, but Zayn feels surrounded by him regardless. Niall is close enough now that he can see all the freckles on his face, can almost see his own reflection in Niall’s eyes in the dim light. Zayn’s heart pounds hard and fast against his ribcage.

“That sounds cool.”

Niall grins. “Cool.”

Then he leans in and kisses him, one hand at the base of Zayn’s neck and the other between Zayn’s hip and the couch. His lips are warm and moving slowly but insistent, and Zayn kisses him back while mentally cursing at the fact that he can’t touch Niall back. His fingers are almost hurting with _want._ Niall’s thumb presses lightly into the column of his throat and his other hand grips at Zayn’s waist.

“This isn’t fair,” Zayn gasps, once Niall lets up for a second, moving his lips down Zayn’s jaw. “Cruel, really.”

Niall chuckles, and it vibrates behind Zayn’s ear. “I dunno. I’m having fun, me.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn mumbles, before Niall presses his smile to Zayn’s lips, biting gently. 

“C’mon,” Niall says against him, pulling back to pull his shirt over his head. He tugs at Zayn’s legs, trying to get him to lay down properly on the couch with his head against the cushions. Zayn raises his arms a bit as he’s adjusting them, and Niall grabs his forearms, pushes until Zayn’s arms are behind his head. 

“Better,” Niall smiles. “Safety first, ‘n all that.” He drapes himself across Zayn, tugging at Zayn’s tank so he can nip at his collarbones. Then he moves down, pushing the shirt up to Zayn’s chin. He takes his goddamn time, tracing along Zayn’s chest with his fingers, following the path whisper-light with his lips, humming contentedly against Zayn’s ribs before biting at one of his tattoos.

 _“Not fair,”_ Zayn says again. He just wants to run his fingers through Niall’s hair, trace the stubble along his jaw and touch his shoulders and arms and chest and—

“Did you want me to stop?” Niall asks, resting with his chin on Zayn’s stomach to look up at him, pinching Zayn’s heart tattoo with his fingers. He raises up, hand on the side of Zayn’s neck again. Which is, like, _definitely_ reversing in progress. Zayn shakes his head no. 

“Didn’t think so,” Niall murmurs, pressing their lips together again. Zayn makes a noise in the back of his throat unwittingly, mildly frustrated, and Niall pulls away again to chuckle at him. Zayn tries to flex his fingers but can’t move them. All he wants to do is _touch_ him.

“It’s really cute, I think, how you can’t do anything,” Niall says. “Like, makes me feel powerful.”

“Shut up,” Zayn says. Niall mouths against Zayn’s pulse point. _“Niall.”_

“Okay, okay,” Niall sighs, tugging off Zayn’s joggers. 

This time, when he makes his way down Zayn’s chest it sticks, and Zayn bites at his own bicep to stifle the noises he makes. As he does everything, Niall smiles the whole time, grins and kisses Zayn’s skin like he can’t help it. And Zayn can’t help but laugh through his groans because _finally._

****

“Wanted to do that for ages. I didn’t think I’d ever get to. Y’know, after.”

Zayn hums, still breathing heavily. Niall is lying with his head on Zayn’s chest, sated and sleepy. His eyes are bright, though, and Zayn thinks that this is probably the best they’ve ever known each other. 

“Well, we’re here now,” Zayn says, shutting his eyes. Niall can probably feel how quickly his heart is beating.

Niall makes a noise of agreement, nose brushing against Zayn’s ribs as he gets more comfortable.

“I really think that river doesn’t exist anymore,” he mumbles. Zayn opens his eyes again, blinks up at the ceiling and exhales heavily. “I looked for ages for it. Think we might just have to try a different river. Like, one in Greece, maybe.”

“Or we can just try the Thames,” Zayn says. “Before we make any flights. Like, not sure we could explain this situation to airport security.”

“We have quite a bit of money, Zayn,” Niall replies. “Can always just take a private plane.”

The thought of that doesn’t appeal to Zayn at all. He shrugs and thinks Niall must feel it, or he just knows what Zayn’s silence means. Both are equally likely, he thinks.

“Okay, we’ll try the Thames.” Niall leans up to kiss Zayn’s chin, quick and soft, before settling back down and pulling the blanket over them both. “Tomorrow, though?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

****

“We’re lucky no one is here.”

Zayn nods and looks around with chattering teeth. It’s still January, but they came to the river at five in the morning, just to be safe. The sun is just rising, the sky still mostly dark and the air biting cold. If this was a normal situation, Zayn would probably be wearing two jackets. As it is, though, he’s wearing a loose tank top and a coat draped around his shoulders. He’s fucking _freezing._

“Alright. Let’s give this a shot, Zayno.”

Regretfully, Zayn takes off his sandals and stands barefoot on the grass. If the grass is this cold, Zayn hates to imagine how cold the water is. Why couldn’t this have happened in July? 

Niall takes off his coat for him and starts tugging at his tank top. He pokes Zayn’s nipples then belly button, and Zayn manages to smile at Niall and stick his tongue out. Hopefully, Zayn can do it back in a few minutes. Slowly, Zayn lets Niall take the gold gloves off of his hands. He flexes his cramped fingers, chews on his lip while Niall fusses around behind him, digging through his bag by the sound of it.

“Should you strip?”

 _“What?”_ Zayn sputters, turns to look at Niall, who stares wide-eyed and faux-innocently back at him. “Shut up. You didn’t say you saw anything about Midas being naked. Plus, it’s freezing. Not happening.”

Niall shrugs, flips the towel they brought over his shoulder and crosses his arms. “I mean, _I’d_ like it.”

“You’d like me to get hypothermia is what you’re telling me right now,” Zayn says, turning away from Niall and his shit-eating grin. “That’s not, like, hot.”

“You don’t know what I find hot,” Niall says, just to be annoying. “Go on, then. The sooner you go in, the sooner we can get back home and take a nap.”

Sighing, Zayn walks towards the water. Upon dipping his toe in he finds it’s about as cold as he expected. _God._ Okay. 

“Don’t think that’s enough.”

 _No shit,_ Zayn thinks. “Did Midas dunk his head or something?” Zayn huffs but walks in deeper anyways. His joggers aren’t providing much warmth, but Zayn tentatively steps over the rocks and goes in until the water is up past his knees.

“Should probably, like, sit or something. Just so you’re actually _in_ the water, y’know,” Niall calls to him. Zayn’s not _super_ far from the shore, but the water isn’t getting deep very quickly, and he doesn’t want to go out much farther, honestly.

“Fucking hell,” Zayn mumbles to himself, no hope that Niall could hear him anyway. He crouches down a bit, quickly splashes some water up on his bare chest before he has to stand up again because he’s shaking so hard.

“Is this water even safe to be in?”

Niall shrugs, throws him two thumbs-ups. “Didn’t check, mate!”

“Great, good to know!” Zayn rubs his arms, trying to force some warmth back into his body.

“Catch?” Zayn looks up, Niall holding one of the gloves in his hands. “See if it’ll go back to normal?”

Zayn barely manages to catch it when Niall throws it, slow and jittery from the cold. Still, Niall gives him a loud _whoop_ anyways, and Zayn rolls his eyes fondly.

He dunks the glove under the water and holds it there. _Please, God, Dionysus, whoever, let this work._ Zayn clenches his eyes shut and takes the glove out of the water.

 _“Fuck yeah!”_ Zayn’s eyes snap back open.

On the shore, Niall pumps his fists in the air and does a ridiculous-looking dance. In Zayn’s hand, he’s holding a very normal-looking gardening glove. Water-logged, but dark green and _not_ solid gold.

“It worked,” Zayn says, awed. He hardly feels cold, now. “Toss the other one?”

Niall does, and Zayn watches the gold disappear as if it were sand as he dips the other glove under the water as well. He can’t help but laugh, relieved and feeling delusional with how freezing cold and tired he is.

Zayn chucks the gloves back towards the shore, and Niall picks them up, squeezes them tightly in his hands and grins widely. In return, he tosses Zayn a tennis ball, one of Stitch’s that he had put in his bag.

It touches Zayn’s hands, and it stays the same muddy green. Niall yells again, and before Zayn can reply, he’s tugging off his own shoes and runs into the water. He makes it to Zayn within seconds and stands in front of him, shiny and bright with chattering teeth.

“May I?”

Niall grins, and without any of the hesitation that Zayn is sure _he_ would have felt, grabs Zayn’s hands. The grin widens when nothing changes, Niall still standing human in front of him.

“Thank fuck,” Niall laughs loudly and leans forward to press his lips hard against Zayn’s.

Zayn lets go of Niall’s hands, grabs his face and scratches at his stubble. Then changes his mind and grabs at his shoulders, pulling him closer. Finally.

“If you’re not careful, we’ll fall in,” Niall says. He goes right back to kissing Zayn insistently, though, so it doesn’t feel like a real warning.

“Who cares?” Zayn replies. He drags his fingers down Niall’s back and presses them flush up against each other. 

“Okay, but seriously.” Niall pulls away again, then kisses him once more, quick. “You’re shaking, and I really don’t want us to fall in, so…”

Zayn nods, and Niall grabs his hand to lead them both back to shore. He picks up the towel from where Niall had dropped it in the grass and wraps it around Zayn’s shoulders before draping the coat on him on top of that. Teeth chattering, Zayn mumbles a thank you and slips his feet back into his sandals. His joggers are still soaked, but he knows Niall will be blasting the heat in his SUV soon, so he figures it’ll be fine. There are more towels in there, too.

“God, I’m freezing,” Zayn says, laughing. The last bit of residual anxiety that had been pushing on his chest since he woke up in his tub dissipates, is carried away in the cold morning air. 

Niall swings his bag over his shoulder, engulfs Zayn in his arms and lets him leech some of his warmth. Zayn sighs contentedly, tucks his nose into Niall’s neck. “Dunno how you’re still warm.”

“I’ve got lots to share,” Niall replies, squeezing once more before he lets go in favour of walking back towards the car.

“I’m holding you to that,” Zayn says. “I have ideas, you know. Gonna take all your body heat.”

Niall laughs. “I can’t wait. I’m holding you to that.”

They hop into the car and Niall cranks the heat, Zayn humming and holding his hands up to the vents. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, Zayn feels relatively warm enough and settles back into the seat, looking over at Niall with a raised eyebrow.

“Well? Let’s go.”

Niall just smiles at him, the same but different, and grabs his hand. He presses a kiss to Zayn’s knuckles, puts the car into drive but keeps holding Zayn’s hand over the console.

They head home, where Niall shoves them both immediately into the shower before they tumble into bed. Niall passes out immediately, face mashed into Zayn’s spare pillow, and Zayn looks at him, carefully traces his features until he feels like a human again, then falls asleep, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think! [The tumblr post is here](https://zot5.tumblr.com/post/186102723742), and if you wanted to chat, I'm on tumblr [@zot5](https://zot5.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks first of all to the rare pair fest mods for arranging everything and providing a schedule in which I could force myself to finish this fic. Second, thank you to anyone I've ever sent this fic, or any version of this fic, or even the vague idea of this fic. I honestly don't remember who I've talked about this with, at this point, but you're all great. Thirdly, to the grammar checker extension I used that called out how many times I unnecessarily use commas: you're right but I'm still mad about it.
> 
> I'm the only one who has actually read this over, so feel free to gently and privately point out any mistakes I've made :)


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